


Five Times, in Dreams

by Shanola



Category: Chalion Saga - Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanola/pseuds/Shanola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in the night can affect us greatly</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times, in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Accridian](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Accridian).



_Before you go to sleep tonight, pray for guidance_, Cazaril had said. Now, Palli stood in his bedchamber staring at his welcoming bed. It wasn't like Caz to ask for such things. Prophetic dreams? Palli could vividly remember Cazaril telling a young soldier that a dream was merely a dream and that if he refused to go to battle, Cazaril would skewer him himself, thus ensuring that particular dream came true. Later, Caz found the soldier very much alive, if a bit dazed, but did not have to point out that the 'prophetic' dream had only been first-battle jitters.

Yet now Cazaril wanted him to pray for guidance in dreams?

Palli ran a hand through his dark hair, then unbuckled his sword belt. Perhaps Caz was merely unsettled by recent events and not descending toward insanity. The young heir Teidez was gravely ill, if Palli could judge by the expression on Caz's face when he spoke of it, and he felt certain he could. The Roya was also gravely ill, suffering from some hidden ailment that seemed chronic and incurable, and which had worsened when the animals in his menagerie had been slain.

The Royacy was teetering, Palli thought, and for now it seemed as if only corrupt men were trying to shore it up for their own gains.

Except for Caz, who was even more cryptic than usual. Palli held more respect for Caz than he held for almost any man in Chalion, but without more information, he could not abandon his duties to ride out on a secret mission. Cazaril surely had his reasons, and probably some valuable insight into the political workings of the court that few others possessed, yet to ride out in such a mysterious manner would be more than foolish faith; it would be outright stupidity. Palli couldn't commit to that.

With a frustrated sound, he finished undressing then pulled a crisp night shirt over his head. Palli hesitated, and stood still in the chill beside his bed and watched the shadows flicker on the wall.

_Would you be willing to ride for me_? Caz had asked. And then worse: _Pray for guidance._

At least he could do that, Palli thought and knelt on the rug beside his bed; the cold of the stone seeped through and soaked his knees.

_Lady, I ask for your guidance in this matter, that I may know the answer to Cazaril's questions. If it be Your will,_ he added and then signed the five and climbed into bed.

Probably, he would get no answers. The gods had never come to him before, and Palli did not expect them to now. But he had honored his promise to Caz and that was all he could do.

He snuffed the candle, pulled the covers over his shoulders and, exhausted, fell into sleep.

*

Four hard days of riding had brought Palli and his men to the high pass that would allow them to cross into Ibra. Palli studied the terrain in front of him; the last snow of spring should have fallen weeks ago. The weather was warming, bringing the danger of spring melts, but Palli knew it would still be cold in the high mountains. He hoped it would be cold enough to hold the snow in place.

No matter; he had to get to Ibra as soon as possible. The fate of all of Chalion rested on his shoulders. They would take no time to switch to more sure-footed mules, either. They would need the speed of the horses once they crossed, and Palli didn't want run the risk of alerting any spies.

He motioned to his men and they mounted their horses. Beneath him, his horse snorted and pranced nervously. Palli ignored him and pressed him forward. The horse was well trained and moved gracefully. The road was rocky and bitter winds swept over them as they rose higher and higher into the pass; the views were spectacular yet the drops took Palli's breath away, and he refused to look down, concentrating instead on the path directly in front of them.

They were almost at the top, a long string of desperate men and tired horses, when the first rumble shook the ground. Palli's horse jolted under him and he barely managed to keep his seat. He could hear the screams of falling men and horses behind him but he refused to look. His heart was pounding and sweat broke out on his forehead. Finally, he steadied his horse and turned to look back if not down. A full half of his men had disappeared, lost over the edge.

Palli frowned as he waited for the horses to steady, then he cautiously moved them forward. They had only gone another five or six steps when the mountain shook a second tim,e and another deep rumble came crashing towards them.

This time, it didn't matter that Palli managed to stay mounted; a thousand tons of snow crushed into them and swept them, choking and freezing, over the edge.

No! he cried. For a moment, he was suspended in the air, snow raining down around him in white clumps. Perhaps, if he could remember how, he would be able to fly, to be safe. To live!

But his heart left him, and Palli fell, rushing to his doom, to certain, crashing death.

*

Palli started awake, shivering and clutching the blankets. His whole body tensed, and for a moment, he expected to feel harsh rocks under his back and broken bones in his limbs, to have tons of white snow come pouring down on top of him.   
But he was staring at a dark ceiling, laying in a soft bed, safe and intact even if a little cold. And not falling, now that his heart had caught up to him. He breathed deep, willing the pounding in his chest to slow and even itself.

Just a dream, Palli muttered and turned to face the wall. It was still dark out; the night was young.

He willed the dream away and, eventually, fell back into sleep.

*

Cazaril was not dead! The thought spurred Palli forward. How could he have ever believed them when they announced such a thing after the fall of Gotorget? Even starving, Caz had been healthy! What sort of a fever could have murdered him?

Palli cursed himself for ever believing that his friend was dead. Now, though, he had a chance to rescue him. He would have to be careful, to be sure, but Palli felt certain he would be able to recover his friend from the vile Roknari who had stolen him away.

Cautiously, he guided his horse forward. Alone, Palli had a better chance of an in and out rescue, but he didn't have the benefit of scouts or the extra swords of his men.

This close to the coastline, he had to be careful, so, so careful, so as not to alert them to his presence or his plans.

The birds were singing in the cool spring air. Everywhere he looked, he saw fresh green leaves and budding flowers. New grass softened the footsteps of his horse. If he didn't know better, Palli could believe he was only out for a pleasant ride.

The growl of pounding hooves shattered the peaceful day. Startled, Palli looked to behind him. A band of Roknari thundered toward him, their swords glinting in the warming sun.

Palli kicked his horse and wheeled to his right. He was betrayed! This was no coincidence, he was certain. He leaned low over his horse and willed him to run like the wind, to fly to freedom and safety. Hurry! Hurry!

His steed was fresh and fast, and they had a good lead on the Roknari. If their luck held, they would surely be able to outrun the trailing enemy.

And then Palli felt his horse falter underneath him. No, no! He flew over the horse's head and landed, stunned. Before he could get catch his breath, the Roknari rained down upon him.

They took his sword and jerked him to his feet, then forced him to his knees and held him there. Palli could feel the sweat run down his face, and to one side, he could see his horse, laying dead with a crossbow in his side. They must have come from the trees, he thought. I never had a chance.

They didn't ask questions, and for some reason, this did not surprise Palli.

Instead, their priest drew a long knife, grabbed Palli's hand and, with one experienced stroke, severed his thumb. Palli screamed as he watched blood spurt from the stump. The priest casually repeated the action on the other hand. Palli was sobbing now, horrified at what had happened but unable to break free.

The priest now stood in front of him, then grabbed Palli's jaw and forced it open. He didn't feel the stroke that severed his tongue but blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin. Palli saw the priest toss something small and glistening to the ground. My tongue!, he thought, as despair overwhelmed him.

One of the guards must have held a shred of mercy, and ran him through the heart with the sword Palli had inherited from his father.

*

Palli came awake with a small cry. He sat up, sweating and shaking and made fists with his hands. His thumbs ached a little but were still firmly attached to his hands. He felt his jaw and worked his mouth a little; no blood.

"Alive?" he spoke out loud, reassured to hear that he could still form words.

Palli shuddered as he remember the dream, the feel of the steel on his thumbs, the blood as it welled over his chin. He drew his hands to his heart; no hole and its wild pounding was slowing.

He gulped the cold night air as if he could swallow peace from the darkness.

Just a dream, he said to himself. Only a dream.

He lay back down and, after a few moments, stopped shivering and fell asleep again.

*

 

Palli patted the leather saddlebags; the rain seemed to permeate everything, but Palli was certain the precious letters inside would be safe wrapped in their oilcloth. Secure in the knowledge that the letters were protected, Palli ordered his men to dismount, and then did the same. He led his horse to the edge of the water and allowed him to drink.

Rain drizzled in a gray mist, making the day soggy and miserable. Palli ignored the wet chill as best he could. After all, what would spring be without saturating rain? At this thought, the rain intensified, and began to fall in pattering sheets. Would the letters be safe? Palli fretted over them a little, but did not open the saddlebag for fear of allowing water to drip inside.

His horse was still drinking and Palli looked around; his men had disappeared. All he could see was thick gray mist that obscured everything, even his horse's head.

This was not natural, of that Palli was certain; he felt his ears tense with listening, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was happening; Palli turned to mount his horse. He had just grasped the pommel when he heard the cries of his men and the ring of steel. Attack!

Desperate, Palli tried to find the stirrup, but it was lost in waves of wet fog, and his foot slipped off again and again. Just as Palli managed to place his foot, his horse snorted and moved. Palli moved with it, but lost the stirrup. Again he struggled to find the stirrup in the fog. Around him, the sounds of battle were intensifying, coming closer, closer. He looked wildly around but could not see anything but a wall of gray.

The ground was throbbing with the beats of hooves, and the air reeked of blood and rain and dying. Palli tried to pull himself onto his horse but the strength drained from his arms and he could not raise himself.

He had to! He had to mount! His horse moved again and Palli felt strength return. He scrabbled at the pommel and tried to jump, but his legs were suddenly filled with lead and he could not leave the wet earth, no matter how hard he tried.

Closer and closer the sounds of battle came, and Palli knew that he had to flee, to escape, to get his letters to their destination or all was lost.

He tried again and again to pull himself up on his horse, but again and again he found his legs heavy and weak or his arms made of lead and useless.

Finally, desperate and frustrated, he led his horse deeper into the rain-swollen river. Surely the water would lift him and make it easier to get on the horse. And the letters were wrapped in oilskin so they would be safe. Right?

His horse resisted and Palli tugged hard at the reins; the deep boom of galloping horses filled the soggy air. His horse shrilled and surged forward, and Palli saw the saddle bags fall open and the letters spill out unprotected into the now rushing river.

He dove after the letters, and swift water closed over his head and clogged his mouth and nose. He struggled to swim but his sword weighed him down and the river pulled him into its deep embrace.

Alone and fill with despair, Palli choked and drowned.

*

In his bed, Palli managed to wake. He lay still, drenched in sweat and fear and keenly aware that something was not right in these dreams. He did not want to return to sleep, but the heaviness that had kept him from mounting his horse in his dream still seemed to weigh on him now; he did not get up and, reluctantly, he closed his eyes.

*

Fonsa's Tower was burning. Orange and red flames licked the night in long, hungry tongues, and black smoke belched into the sky. Palli urged his horse forward; they had to put the fire out or the rest of Cardegoss would burn with it. His horse's hooves rang out against the cobblestones and Palli clung tightly to his mount as they turned one corner and then another.

The few people milling about casually moved to clear a way for him, and he yelled at them to fetch water that the tower was burning. They seemed oblivious to his commands. He could wait no longer on them and rode on; above him, lightning flashed in white and red strobes but no rain fell. The flames grew longer and he could feel their heat on his face.

Corner and corner and corner, the Zangre was always maze-like but Palli knew he should be at the base of the tower by now. He trusted his horse to navigate the cobbled streets and looked at the flame-engulfed tower again; it loomed above him, and dark, heavy smoke billowed down the crooked walls.

Finally, his horse turned a corner and they were at the base of crackling tower; black crows flew madly about, darting in and out of the smoke that poured from the building, and flames flickered high into the sky.

He found himself alone in the courtyard.

"Fire!" Palli yelled and looked wildly about for someone, anyone, to help him fight the flames. "Bring water!"

His voice echoed, unanswered.

Palli's horse sidled to the right, and he looked back at the tower. Black, sooty smoke gathered at the base of the doomed tower, roiling with flashing embers. This…was not right. Smoke was supposed to rise, not sit heavy on the ground.

As if alive, the dark smoke began to ooze forward, reaching dark fingers toward him. Palli turned his horse and fled. Corner and corner and corner, and he was back at the base of the tower. The black ooze was closer now, and his horse shrilled in fear. Above him, Fonsa's Tower boomed as timbers fell somewhere deep inside. It teetered and swayed and seemed to lean over them, reaching with smoking fingers to grasp him.

Again, Palli and his horse fled; corner and corner and corner. The black fingers followed, gaining speed, and the flames above him intensified and the heat burned at his back. Palli didn't know if it would be worse to be caught by the dark fingers grasping at them or crushed by the burning tower.

He yelled at the few people he saw, but again they ignored him and acted like nothing strange was happening. Palli gave up trying to alert them and urged his horse on. His only thought now was escape.

Thunder boomed over his head. Palli looked up in time to see the tower crack and break apart. Then the dark fingers of smoke grabbed them and smothered his screams as the fiery blocks of Fonsa's tower tumbled over him.

*

"Mercy!" Palli gasped as he lay curled in his bed. "Lady, I ask for peace this night!"

Palli shuddered and fought to sit up. Sleep was not a place he wanted to revisit tonight yet he couldn't seem to move.

_Pray for guidance_ Caz had said, and Palli had. But he hadn't expected anything like this; surely he had his answer now.

The Lady, it seemed, had other ideas; Palli felt himself dragged back into slumber.

*

The day was clear and beautiful. Palli had never seen a sky so blue and vivid, or grass so green and lush. His horse was gentle and comfortable, and they rode through the countryside at a pleasant pace. Beside him were Ferda and Foix. Palli enjoyed their company but today, they were all silent, content to enjoy the warm spring day.

Exotic birds flitted from tree to tree, building nests and hunting insects. A dragonfly hummed by Palli's ear. To his right, flowers of a kind he had never seen before bloomed blue and red and yellow, and stunned him with their exquisite beauty. A deer and her fawn bounded away as they neared.

Palli lost himself in the moment. Peace and tranquility embraced him. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the warmth of the sun.

Suddenly, his horse bucked. Relaxed and unsuspecting, Palli felt himself fly over his horse's head. He landed flat on his back, unable to move.

Ferda and Foix stopped beside him and dismounted. He tried to call to them but they didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. Their horses shuffled to his side.

His own horse eyed him, then nuzzled his arm. Palli could feel the slobber from the horse's tongue on his arm. Then his horse nudged him hard in the ribs. Palli tried to roll away but found he was still unable to move, as if tied to the thick green grass.

The pain of the first bite took him by surprise, and he struggled to see what was attacking him. All he saw was his horse, chewing mildly, bloody froth at his lips. Astounded, Palli could only watch as his horse bent and took another bite from him. He yelled at the pain of it this time, but it only seemed to invite the other two horses to join the feeding.

Through the agony he could see Ferda and Foix standing to one side, watching.

"Help me!" he managed to choke out.

Ferda only shrugged and Foix said, "The horses have to eat."

Palli could only scream as his horses ate him.

*

Finally, finally Palli sat up in bed. He ran his hands over his body, half expecting to find burns or bloody bites or both. His shaking hands found neither, and his pounding heart started to beat in a more normal rhythm. Palli put his feet the floor and sat for a moment with his hands over his face, willing himself to stop shaking.

Steady again, Palli didn't bother to light the candle. Instead, he stood and poured water into the wash bowl. A few strokes and he had sponged the most offensive of the sweat from his body. Still half-wet, he dressed quickly and grabbed his belt, then fairly bolted from his room.

He buckled the sword on as he strode down the hall, nodded at the guard by the door, and slipped into the chilly night air. He made his way to the building that housed his men, and pounded on Ferda and Foix's door. "Come with me," he said abruptly once the door cracked open. As he waited, Palli ran a hand through his still-damp hair, certain it was standing on end. It didn't matter; he had no time for combs now. Ferda and Foix were ready in a very short time; he ignored their questioning stares as he wheeled around and led them outside.

_Pray for guidance_ Caz had said, and Palli had, and had been most soundly answered.

Ferda and Foix followed as he strode purposefully to the Zangre and Caz's room, determined to find out just what in the Bastard's hell was going on around here.

~finis~


End file.
